


The Art of Divination

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: Hermione consults a magical mirror to try and locate Ron Weasley when he runs during the search for Horcruxes. Instead, the mirror shows what-or rather WHO-her heart truly desires. A certain blond-haired individual, with haunted eyes and a broken spirit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How about a story where Hermione is the one secretly pining after Draco for a change? Also, I am taking so many fanciful liberties with the art and intricacies of scrying, for the sake of the story. Forgive me. There is a moodboard for this somewhere on my tumblr: themourningmadam. Check it out!

Hermione Granger had cried herself to sleep every night for the past week. Stowed safely in her tent, with Harry Potter keeping watch over them, she allowed the tears to flow freely. Ronald had left them in their hunt for horcruxes. She didn’t know why she was surprised—his mood had been somber and petulant for weeks now. Not that she could honestly blame him. They were on the hunt for horcruxes—not knowing what they were, where they were or how many there were. It was a frustrating and disheartening affair.

But tonight, she refused to cry anymore. The saddened tears had dissolved into sheer anger—anger at Ron for running out on them—on her, anger at their predicament, anger at the state of the world. Hermione reached into her beaded bag and felt around, finally retrieving the item she was looking for.

In her hand, still wrapped in its original velvet emerald cloth, was an ornate mirror with a smooth obsidian face. The edges and handle were made of pewter and had intricate designs of briars and roses embossed into the metal. A scrying mirror.

Hermione was never one for Divination—such a fanciful notion, being able to see the future. Even still, she’d felt drawn to this mirror when she saw it in the Divination corner at Flourish and Blotts last summer. She’d stowed it carefully in her bag and pulled it out at random moments when she was alone. Hermione had never attempted to try her hand at scrying—she had a complete lack of Seeing abilities and feared angering the Higher Powers with her lack of respect on the subject.

But she was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures. She wanted to gaze into it and get some inkling of where Ron had gone and to see that he was safe. They listened each night to the lists of their classmates, friends and loved ones who had been murdered and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief each night when none of the Weasleys’ names appeared on the list.

She sat on the edge of her bed, having just finished her watch for the evening. The scrying mirror was in both hands, a flame burning in midair in front of it. She felt foolish for even thinking this would work. But, still, she persisted. Hermione Granger was never one to give up so easily.

Hermione sat in the center of her bed and closed her eyes to start. She took deep, calming breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. When her nerves were steadied, she opened her eyes and refocused on the obsidian surface. The flame’s light danced across the surface, but nothing else was clearly reflected in the darkness of her surroundings.

Hermione stared into the abyssal darkness, willing her Second Sight to come forth. She knew she had to keep her eyes focused and she watched the flame’s reflection, trying to bring her intention to the forefront of her mind. I want to see him—I need to know he’s safe.

It felt like she stared into the nothingness for hours, though it may have only been a few short minutes. This was hopeless. Hermione growled in frustration and set the mirror beside her, burying her face in her hands. Her eyes were trained on the floor, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not for Ron. Not again.

As she stared straight, her eyes staring toward her shoelaces but completely unseeing, a movement beside her caught her eye. The flame she’d conjured still flickered above the surface, but there was something more. She couldn’t get the images to focus properly.

Pushing the mirror to the middle of the bed and sitting cross-legged, Hermione began her meditative breathing once more. She trained her eyes on the mirror, willing the images to clear for her.

Hermione had expected to see Ron Weasley’s messy mop of red locks, but when the images flashing finally cleared for her, it was a shock of white blond hair that caught her eye. Is that Malfoy? Hermione craned her neck, as though the repositioning would help her see any better, and stared at the scene playing out before her.

As though she were drawn to act, Hermione brought a single fingertip to the surface. She felt a small tug in her, like her nerves were leaving her body, a tingling and not-unpleasant sensation of magic being brought forth. Suddenly, as though sucked into a Pensieve, Hermione was standing behind Malfoy.

_Draco Malfoy was sitting at the base of an old willow tree. A large Manor loomed in the darkness behind him, the bright full moon highlighting the turrets and angles almost menacingly. There was an albino peacock strutting around in front of him and Malfoy appeared to be conjuring treats to toss at the bird._

_Hermione walked around to look into the face of her rival. His head was down and his sleeves were rolled up. She brought a hand over her mouth as she took in the sight of the Dark Mark, ugly and ominous against his otherwise creamy skin. He was staring at it as well, and though his head was down, Hermione could see the scowl. His jaw was tight and clenched and he had tears sliding down his cheeks, slick and shining by the light of the moon. He looked so…broken…so defeated, she felt a sharp pang in her chest._

_“Malfoy?” she called his name quietly, not wanting to startle him._

_He made no indication that he’d heard her. She tried again, a little louder, but still nothing. Hermione knelt beside him and brought her hand to his cheek, wiping the tears as she did. Malfoy looked up, scanning his surroundings with a look of confusion and fright on his face. He looked in her direction, but his eyes seemingly didn’t take in her appearance. He may not have been able to see her, but he certainly sensed her touch._

_Malfoy’s face, more mature and worn than when she’d last seen him, was still as beautiful as ever. His jaw was sharp and he’d lost some weight, giving his cheekbones a higher and more prominent set in his face. His lips were as rosy and full as she_ remembered, _but were no longer held in a sneer. His eyes—they had definitely changed most of all. Still an enigmatic shade of grey, they no longer held the haughty arrogance of his youth. They were haunted, pained. She instinctively knew he’d seen too much—too many atrocities, too much death, too much destruction. He was irreparably damaged and his eyes showed the depth of his despair. He looked more like a fallen angel than a broken man_ in _that moment._

_Hermione ran her fingertips over his face once more and he shivered. Malfoy moved to pull his cloak more tightly around himself in the cold December air. He made a clicking noise to the peacock, trying to entice it to come closer so he could pet it. The bird simply eyed him with its head tilted to the side. “How about for another treat, eh?” Draco said, and he conjured a handful of bird treats in his hand._

_The peacock was intrigued now and ambled toward him interestedly. Malfoy held out his cupped hand and the bird made a noise in its throat before it pecked at the food. He used his other hand to stroke the bird’s feathers. ‘That’s a good bird,” he cooed, his voice the most tender Hermione had ever heard._

_She watched in mesmerized silence as Malfoy catered to the bird and showed it affection before it grew disinterested in him and strutted in the opposite direction. He put his hood up over his head, tugging it close around his neck and ears as though fighting the cool night. He put his head back against the tree trunk and bent his legs before he closed his eyes and draped his arms over his knees. Hermione wondered_ in _that moment what it was he was thinking about so intently, so serenely, in the midst of a chaos and despair that was wearing on him._

_Hermione took a moment to look around them and noticed that they were just beyond a wall of tall hedges and flowering bushes. The home—Malfoy Manor, she was able to deduce—loomed overhead and he seemed intent on trying to hide it from his view. She watched as his chest rose and fell steadily, the only movement in the still winter night._

_“Draco!” a feminine voice called from beyond the bushes. “Draco, darling, it’s time!”_

_Time for what? Hermione wondered as Malfoy heaved a heavy sigh and drew himself into a standing position. He hesitated and looked around himself once more, seemingly able to sense her presence even if he couldn’t see or hear her. He pursed his lips and knit his brow, and for the first time, Hermione noticed the deep crease that was worn between them. He shook his head as though to dispel the idea that there was someone else nearby and set his shoulders. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Coming, Mother!” he_ called, _and hearing his voice so cold and unrelenting sent shivers through Hermione. She watched his back retreat until he disappeared behind the hedgerow and she clenched her eyes shut._

Hermione was back in her tent, the surroundings warm and familiar. Her intent had been to see the one she thought she longed for—Ronald. But scrying allowed the practitioner to look deep within. She had tickled her subconscious and awoken something she had long thought dead.

How many years had Hermione watched Draco Malfoy from afar? How many stolen glances from across the Great Hall, through bookshelves in the library, from the stands on the Quidditch Pitch? She’d harbored a tender crush on him since third year. Hermione inherently believed that everyone had good in them. Draco Malfoy had been nothing but ugly to her, this much was true. But she could see past that. She could see the mischief, the sadness, the longing in those grey orbs of his. She knew, an intuitive feeling deep within, that Malfoy was not at all what he seemed. She’d longed for so many days and nights to simply reach out to him, let him know that he wasn’t as alone as he seemingly felt. But they weren’t friends—they never had been. Befriending her would have put them both in danger, and she was able to appreciate the severity of the situation enough to know this.

Still, she had stoked the little flame in her heart for Draco on more than one occasion. As she watched him chop ingredients with deft ability in Potions; as he smiled and laughed in Transfiguration when his teacup turned into a mouse and escaped down the hall; as he stalked about broodingly all of last year, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

No. He wasn’t at all what he seemed. His failed attempt at assassinating the Headmaster had proven what she already knew. Harry, who had obsessively stalked Malfoy—much to her chagrin—even admitted that Malfoy had lowered his wand. He’d been incapable of taking the ancient wizard’s life. A coldblooded Death Eater would have simply looked him in the eye and smiled while casting the Unforgivable. But not Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t a coldblooded murderer. He was just a boy, faced with no other options. A scared young man, born in to a family of Death Eaters, trying to do what was expected of and threatened into him. Hermione felt pity for him more than anything else.

How curious that the scrying mirror would bring him to her once more. She had been so focused on the task at hand and trying to kindle the fledgling relationship with Ron, that she’d all but put him in the back recesses of her ever-busy mind. And what exactly had she seen? Was that the past, present, future? What if it was none of those? Was it all of them, buttoned up in some strange scene filled with metaphors for who Draco Malfoy was, is and will be?

Hermione was now more confused than she was before she pulled out the damned Divination implement. As she lay back in her bed and fell into a fitful sleep, it wasn’t a redhead fogging her mind and clouding her dreams. It was a blond boy, on the cusp of manhood, frightened and alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! And thank you to sunshine.katz, who went through and beta'ed this in its entirety!

Hermione and Harry had moved once more, along yet another riverbed. The stress of hiding, coupled with her grief over Ron’s departure, made her retreat within herself. Harry was becoming more sullen and depressed as his task began to wear on him horribly. The two navigated gingerly around one another, knowing they were all they had left and reluctant to anger the other.

Hermione thought nonstop about what she’d seen in the scrying mirror. She knew that those who practiced Divination believed that scrying unlocked the subconscious and allowed the practitioner to delve deep into the recesses of one’s mind. The heart and mind would merge into one and reveal an individual’s true desires. For years, Hermione had tended towards a mild crush on Malfoy. But it was nothing more than a schoolgirl fancy, brought on by his perceived intelligence, good looks and aristocratically sculpted persona. Ron was the one she had actively vied for, the one who crushed her already-fragile heart when he left. So why did the mirror present Draco Malfoy?

If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was frightened. Hermione had seen Malfoy again for the first time in months, in a different light than he would ever allow anyone to glimpse in person. And the gentle tug at her heartstrings as she’d watched him had frightened her. Wasn’t he supposed to be the enemy? She had been so disturbed by what she’d seen, what she’d felt, that she hadn’t attempted scrying again.

But after a few long nights alone, her mind a scramble of ginger and blond, her heart a mix of anger and longing, Hermione’s curiosity won the battle. She sat on her bed with her back to the headboard. Harry was outside of the tent, listening to the radio and she threw up a silencing charm to shield from distractions. Another flick of her wand, and she would be alerted if anyone unwelcome stumbled across their hideaway.

She extinguished all light in the room and ignited a small flame in front of the mirror. Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head from side to side, stretching her neck into relaxation. She hummed gently and tried to steady her breathing. When she reopened her eyes, she was transfixed on the flame’s flickering reflection in the obsidian. Show me what’s in his heart.

Hermione stared intently and felt her other senses heighten. The room wasn’t silent. She became hyperaware of the Muggle watch ticking the seconds by on her wrist, the soft swish of the tent’s fabric as it swayed in the breeze. She could smell the damp air from outside infiltrating their living space. The feel of the mirror’s pewter handle was cold in her hands and she could feel every crevice of the intricately carved briar design. She could taste anticipation on her tongue as she waited. When his blond head finally came into view, she did just as she had done the previous time and touched a single finger to the blackness.

 _Malfoy was sitting in what Hermione assumed was his bedroom—a room filled with dragon figurines, a framed and_ signed _poster of the Puddlemere United Quidditch Team, and a bookcase that spanned an entire wall. The room was immaculate and tidy, not a thing out of place. Much like the boy who inhabited it._

 _He was sitting on his bed and Hermione was surprised to see Theodore Nott sitting in a chair alongside the bed, his feet propped up beside Malfoy. Curious. She’d never seen Nott and Malfoy together in Hogwarts, despite being in the same House. She moved closer and could see that this vision could only be the past. His face, though held in a tight frown and fixed with worry, was younger. He looked as he had at the end of_ fifth _year, his hair long and hanging across his face. The violet rings of exhaustion and the gaunt setting of malnutrition hadn’t marred his features just yet._

_“What am I going to do, Theo?” he asked, his voice sounding worried._

_Nott was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at his friend. He looked worried as well and there was a spark of compassion in his eyes Hermione hadn’t known a Slytherin was capable of. “I don’t have a good answer for you, mate.”_

_Malfoy put his head back against his headboard and closed his eyes as he repeatedly bumped his head against the mahogany. “With father in prison, the Dark Lord expects me to take his place.”_

_“The Dark Lord,” Theo spat the title, “wants to kill you in retribution for your father’s shortcomings.”_

_Malfoy leaned his head forward and looked at his friend. “Well, he’s going to kill me and my mother if I refuse.”_

_Nott pursed his lips, lost in thought as Malfoy stood to pace the black marble flooring of his bedroom. There was a vase full of roses and baby’s breath on the desk by the window, no doubt from his mother’s garden. Malfoy went to it and plucked a sprig of baby’s breath as he eyed the flowers sadly. He ran the dainty flowers along his chin and cheek, drawing a heavy sigh. “My mother shouldn’t have to die because her only son is a coward, Theo.”_

_“It’s not cowardly to be against homicide, Draco.”_

_Malfoy stared out of the window, out across the expansive gardens and grounds surrounding the Manor, twirling the flowers in his hand absently. “I’m just going to have to do it. I’m just going to have to take the Mark and kill the old man. My mother’s life depends on it.”_

_“And what about your life? If you should fail?” Nott voiced._

_“Then at least I’ll have died_ serving _my family and my Master.”_

_Nott scoffed. “He’s no more your Master than I. You’ve never bought into any of those pure-blood ideologies. It’s one thing to put on a show at school to save face, but it is something altogether different to kill a man for a cause you don’t believe in, Draco.”_

_Malfoy turned away from the window and looked at his friend, his face anguished and panicked. “What other choice do I have, Theo? Hmm? Give me a way out. I would rather die_ trying _to save Mother than have to watch her suffer or worse, be forced to kill her.”_

_Theo studied him for a long moment, Draco’s chest heaving with every painful breath he took. His face looked like that of a man who was drowning. “What of Granger?” Theo asked quietly._

_Malfoy recoiled lightly and turned toward the window once more. Hermione wished she could see his face as her heart started thrumming at the mention of her name. “What of her?” he finally asked after a pregnant pause._

_“She will never accept you with a Mark on your arm and Dumbledore’s blood on your hands.”_

_…_

_The scene before Hermione transformed before she had the time to react to what she’d heard. She was now in a large ballroom, the same black marble flooring beneath her feet. Voldemort was sitting up on a dais to one side of the room, his tall-back leather chair more like a throne. A group of Death Eaters stood before him, all wearing their hoods and robes, their silver masks more menacing now that she had time to look at them unencumbered._

_“Bring in the boy,” Voldemort hissed and Hermione saw Fenrir Greyback—the only one not in robes and a mask—stalk toward a large set of heavy wooden doors._

_After a brief moment, he returned, a harsh grip on Draco’s upper arm. Malfoy looked indignant about receiving such treatment in his own home but remained quiet as fright painted his features. Greyback released him in front of the dais and Malfoy dropped into a low bow before falling to his knees, his head bowed toward the floor. “My Lord,” he said, and Hermione could hear the quiver in his voice._

_Voldemort was still sitting in his makeshift throne, his fingers tented in front of his face as he eyed the young boy, freshly sixteen and naively innocent. He drew a deep breath through the slits in his face and then leaned forward. “Young Malfoy.”_

_He pointed his wand at Draco and his voice was stern as he said, “Rise!” and the blond’s body rose rigidly into a standing position._

_Voldemort stood and circled the boy, eyeing him over inch by inch as though he were sizing him up for a fistfight. “So you want to join my ranks, eh?”_

_“He thinks he can play with the big boys,” came the muffled sound of a female voice—Bellatrix Lestrange—and the others laughed._

_Malfoy lifted his head in proud defiance and Hermione felt a surge of pity as a few others taunted him and Voldemort smirked at their antics. “Crucio!” the monster roared and Draco fell to the ground and began writhing in pain, not quite screaming but groaning loudly._

_Hermione rushed to his side and put her hands over his quaking figure. “Get up, Draco. Get up! It’ll be worse if you just lie here,” she muttered frantically, though deep down she knew he’d survived this encounter._

_As she ran a hand over his forehead, his writhing eased up some and he was able to open his eyes. Tears of pain had streamed from the corners of both and he was clenching his jaw so tightly she suspected he would soon break a tooth, but he had a look of determination in his eyes. He clenched his fists and fought to sit upright. She put a hand under his arm to assist him and after a moment he rose to his feet. He couldn’t see her but he evidently felt her presence just as he had last time._

_Voldemort released his wand and lifted his face, a look of bemused admiration gracing his features. “Turn toward the others, boy, so they can look into your eyes.”_

_Hermione was horrified as, one by one, each Death Eater came forward and performed unthinkable curses on him. He dropped to his hands and knees but never went down fully again and by the end, he was bleeding from multiple lacerations and had sustained bruises on his face and body. But dammit if Malfoy didn’t take a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and put his face forward to look them all over as he rose to his feet._

_He looked ready to fall out at any moment and Hermione wondered if one of the masked individuals in the crowd was the mother he loved so dearly. She wondered if Narcissa had trained her wand on her own son. Draco, broken and bleeding, managed to hold himself upright and looked as though he would collapse from pained exhaustion at any moment. But he was upright. Hermione had to smile at the look of determination and grit on his face._

_“You’ve done well, young Malfoy, withstanding your initiation. Come forth,” Voldemort said, beckoning him with an impatient wave of his hand._

_Malfoy took another deep breath and Hermione found she was holding hers. He turned toward the seated Dark Lord once more and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands on his thighs and bowing his head deeply. “My Lord.”_

_“Hold out your arm, child,” he hissed and Malfoy removed his suit coat and set it on his knees as he yanked his sleeve up._

_Hermione walked around and watched Draco’s face as Voldemort pressed his wand to the pale flesh. His face, the beautiful face that she’d admired from afar for so long, was screwed up in horror that he was unable to mask. She had never seen someone look so reluctant to do something in her entire life. He looked so broken and defeated_ in _that moment, as he trained his shining grey eyes down to his own arm, that she felt another wave of sadness overcome her. He was just a boy. A boy with no choice. He didn’t want this—he never had._

_She watched as his body seized and clenched in agonizing pain once more, the black ink of the Mark carving its way into his arm, engraving his flesh forever more. He looked akin to a man whose entire arm was on fire but he didn’t let out a single noise. She had to admire his ability to push through._

_When Voldemort was done, the steady stream of Dark magic ending abruptly, Malfoy finally did collapse unconscious. “Take him up to bed, tuck him in tight with his_ little stuffed _dragon,” Voldemort taunted once more and Narcissa and Theo were rushing into the room._

_Hermione nearly breathed a sigh of relief that Narcissa had not been in the room to witness her son’s torture and that she hadn’t been forced to commit such an atrocity. She levitated his body up from the ground and the others laughed heartily at Draco’s expense._

_Hermione had never wished death on someone before, but she suddenly wanted every masked member of the wretched group to be blown into small parts. She wanted to hurt them all. He was just a boy._

_She followed Narcissa and Theo_ up _the stairs, Draco’s levitating body between them. She watched as Narcissa tended his wounds and stymied the bleeding. Theo watched warily from the same corner where she stood, his arms leaning forward on his legs. “He needs rest,” the older witch finally said and she and Theo left the room._

 _Hermione watched as Narcissa hugged Theo to her side in a motherly fashion as they exited. She went to Draco’s bedside and took his hand in her own. He stirred slightly and his lips parted but he didn’t rouse from slumber. She brought a few fingertips up and brushed his hair away from his forehead and sighed. Hermione knew what the coming year was going to entail for him, but she doubted he understood fully the_ toll _the torment of being tasked with killing another would take on his psyche. A scared boy of sixteen, trapped in the Dark world of men twice his age and twice as murderous. All he’d wanted was to save his mother. If only he’d gone straight to the Order. If only she could have known what he was doing and offered him a way out. Hindsight was always 20/20, but Hermione wished in those moments, as she watched him sleep away the pain of his battered body and soon to be broken spirit, that she’d known a year ago what she knew now. She could have saved him._

The scene dissipated and it took a good minute for Hermione to realize that she was crying. She was crying not only for the plight she found herself and Harry in but for the damaged boy for whom she was growing ever more melancholic. She wanted to see him—really see him—in person. She wanted to run her hand over the Mark and tell him that she’d seen the conflict and the reluctance in his eyes when he took it; the magical beating he’d endured to ensure his mother’s safety. Hermione wanted to tell him that she knew that deep down inside, he wasn’t at all what the world thought him to be. He was no monster, no hardened Death Eater. He was just a boy. A boy with no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y’all catching the subtle hints at his purity and innocence in each chapter? The albino peacock, and now the baby’s breath. Both symbols of purity, innocence and even, budding love.
> 
> Our boy isn’t bad. Just misguided.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Hermione couldn’t get the images from the scrying mirror out of her mind. She was craving the chance to See once more. All those years she’d discounted the art of Divination…apparently all it took for her to tap into her Second Sight was a little motivation.

What had Theodore Nott meant when he said, _“What of Granger?”_ And what of Malfoy’s strange reaction to the question? If the mirror were accurate in showing her the scene exactly as it had played out, then clearly Malfoy and Nott had spoken of her before that day. _“She’ll never accept you with a Mark on your arm and Dumbledore’s blood on your hands.”_ This statement would lead Hermione to believe that Malfoy had expressed some desire to make amends with her. That notion made her heart flutter. She only hoped they’d have that opportunity once this War was fought. Provided they both survived. 

It was early in the day and Harry was sulking on his bed, trying once again to figure out how to destroy the locket. They’d been on the run for weeks now and had been in possession of the locket for just as long. And still, they were no closer to destroying it. It was disheartening and left Hermione with a feeling of dread. But she would never leave Harry’s side; she could never abandon her best friend in his time of need when his battle with Voldemort was more dangerous than ever before. A time when defeating the evil wizard was imperative to saving the world.

Hermione excused herself and slipped into her own area. She retrieved the mirror from her bag and settled herself on the bed, with her knees drawn into herself. Her heart was pounding rapidly and she craved the sight of the blond wizard more with every minute. Hermione had always enjoyed riddles and he was one electrifying enigma. It didn’t take as much priming today as the past two times. A few moments of staring into blackness, and she was ready. She drew a deep breath. _Show me what lies ahead for him._ She was already touching the mirror in anticipation.

_Hermione was transported into a room—no, nursery. There was the sound of a baby crying, its tiny lungs letting out a penetrating screech. She looked around and saw that the only photo in the entire room was an enlarged framed photo of a woman’s pregnant belly, her hands and a man’s—clearly Malfoy’s long fingers—touching the swell tenderly on either side. Hermione walked toward the photo and inspected it. There was a faint scar across the woman’s right hand. Both of the left hands had wedding rings adorning them. The woman’s hands were oddly familiar and she looked at her own—the nails worn down from years of nail biting. The woman’s were longer, well-manicured…they couldn’t possibly be hers._

_The baby in the cot continued to scream pitifully and Hermione heard the door open behind her. Malfoy entered the room carrying a bottle and closed the door behind him. He was older, that much was evident from the crow’s feet around his eyes. The haunted look had left him and his malnourished features had filled out pleasantly. His pale hair was cropped close and brushed just so_   _, but she could see that the hairline was slightly farther back than it was now. He looked as though he’d just gotten home from a long day’s work, as he was wearing a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, rolled up to his elbows. As she moved around to watch him remove his wristwatch from his left wrist, she saw that his Dark Mark had faded to a pale white scar. He stowed the watch in his pocket before turning toward the cot._

_“Oh my little man, so pitiful you are,” he cooed as he reached in and retrieved the tiny infant._

_With a tenderness only a father could know, he maneuvered the child so that he was cradling him in his arms, his head rested right in the crook. He smiled down at the baby as he shushed him quietly, pacing and rocking his arms gently. “Hush, now,” he soothed, running his index finger over the child’s pink cheek, “Mumma is tired…we wouldn’t want to wake her, would we?” he whispered before placing a silencing charm on the room._

_The baby seemed to understand what Malfoy was whispering because his harsh screeching calmed to impatient whimpers. He waved his hand toward the bottle he’d brought with him and it soared into his hand as he sat down in the rocking chair next to the cot. He toed off his shoes and crossed his ankles. He spread a soft baby blanket over his lap and the baby, tucking it under the arm that cradled him._

_Hermione moved closer to look at the child. He had a head of the finest blond hairs she’d ever seen and she felt the urge to touch them. As she did, the baby closed his grey eyes for a moment. “You getting sleepy on me, bud?” the father asked, using magic to keep the bottle elevated as he brought his hand around to stroke the soft hairs just as she’d done a moment prior._

_She listened as the baby made sweet noises as he ate. She leaned against the chest of drawers and observed Draco Malfoy smile down lovingly at his son, her heart heavy. Who had he married? She eyed the simple platinum band on the hand that cradled the tiny bundle. Though her heart was tearing at the irrational sting of jealousy she felt, she instinctively knew he was happy in this life. That made her smile as he set the bottle down and lifted the child up and held him against his shoulder, rubbing and patting his back._

_Malfoy stood once more to pace the room, the gentle sways of his body and a full belly lulling the baby into slumber. He began to sing softly, his voice off key and in direct opposition to the rest of his persona. He was a terrible singer. But the deep rumbles of his chest soothed the infant, who cuddled his head into Malfoy’s neck. He pressed his cheek into the baby’s soft hair as he sang of “tiny dragons dreaming tiny dragon dreams.”_

“What are you doing, Hermione?” Harry’s voice broke through her reverie and she exited the scene with a quick jolt.

“Merlin, Harry, you scared me,” she said, putting a hand over her heart and blushing.

Her best friend was standing beside her bed, his arms crossed. “Is that…a scrying mirror?” he asked, bewildered as he eyed its obsidian face.

Hermione couldn’t deny it now—even Harry’s limited exposure to Divination would allow him to identify such an instrument. She nodded. “Yeah. I bought it at Flourish and Blott’s on a whim last year.”

“Thought you might give Divination another go?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“I have no idea why I bought it,” she answered truthfully. “But I…I guess I just wanted to see if it would help me find Ron.” 

Harry’s face softened. “I’m sure he’s okay, ‘Mione. I’ve been listening to Potterwatch and none of the Weasleys’ names have appeared,” he whispered, relief evident in his tone.

Angry as she was at Ronald for running out, she felt the relief wash over her as well. She didn’t understand the feelings she was experiencing as she watched Malfoy in the mirror. Feelings of what? Longing? Hope? Sadness for him? But she understood the feelings she would always feel toward Ron—loyalty, a strong sense of friendship, love. The more she watched Malfoy, the more that last emotion felt platonic, rather than romantic. And she didn’t know how she should feel about _that_ either. 

Hermione wasn’t used to being so out of control of her emotions. Sure, the year before as she’d watched Ronald parade around with Lavender Brown, she’d edged toward unrestrained jealous rage. She’d sent a pack of magic birds at his head, for Merlin’s sake. But had she been jealous of Ron’s attention to Lavender? Had she truly wanted to be with her redheaded best friend? Or did she want what they seemingly had—hand holding, snogging… _more_? Had she been angry because she hadn’t the chance to experience that with someone she truly cared for? Hermione doubted Ron had loved the girl, but that certainly didn’t stop a relationship from budding. Krum had been a brief… _fling_ for her, chaste and innocent. McLaggen was revenge and the thought of kissing him made her want to gag, even now.

“So did it work?” Harry’s voice cut through once more.

“Hmm?” she asked, looking at the bespectacled boy.

“The mirror. Did it show you where Ron is?” he asked again, running his hand through his perpetually messy hair.

Hermione scoffed. “Harry, you know I’ve always been rubbish at Divination. Waste of valuable time, if you ask me,” she said haughtily, silently praying the Gods wouldn’t take it to heart and strip her of her sudden Second Sight.

She already knew she wanted to scry again. Seeing Malfoy was becoming like a drug for her. She craved the sight, smell and sound of him during these glimpses into his life. Hermione wanted to know about him—what he’d been through; what he was feeling now, hundreds of miles away from where she hid in the woods; how he was seemingly going to redeem himself and his name after the War. He was going to survive…bear children…wed a lucky witch… She’d seen this for herself. Hermione was eager to see how this all played out. Each scene being revealed to her was an individual piece of a larger puzzle. One she intended to solve.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Ronald Weasley had some nerve. He had come back, spouting off about his Deluminator allowing him to hear Hermione, talking about warm balls of light in his chest. Yes, he’d saved Harry and destroyed the Horcrux. But where was he when they’d practiced defensive spells and Apparating under the Invisibility Cloak and made polyjuice likenesses of Muggles to ensure they could escape in case Voldemort cornered them when they went to visit the cemetery in Godric’s Hollow? Which he had. And where had Ron been when they’d almost died in Bathilda Bagshot’s home on Christmas Eve?

Not with them. That much was certain.

And he had the nerve to come marching back into their lives. Hermione had half a mind to hex Harry for his not allowing her to hex Ronald. The boys were inside the tent sleeping when she began to feel restless. So much had happened in the last few weeks that she hadn’t had time to dedicate to scrying. She’d been far more concerned with trying to stay alive.

Hermione slipped out of the tent and went to sit with her back to a tree stump. She retrieved the mirror from her bag and looked around her conspiratorially. It was one thing for Harry to catch her gazing into the smooth surface. But with Ron back, she’d have no excuse if she were caught again. She set a magical trip wire across the front of the tent and conjured her tiny flame.

Her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts and it took a while for her to be able to quiet it enough to meditate. She concentrated on the sounds around her—the soft crunch of snowflakes landing on top of the surrounding blanket of snow, the wind whispering through the trees, causing the boughs to rub together and moan, the scuttling of a rabbit close by. It was dark out here, and she refused to ignite another light source, intuition telling her the moonlight was sufficient.

_I want to speak with him._

Her intention was clear. She’d spent hours after her last vision, replaying the gentle scene in her head. Malfoy was going to be a father, and from the brief glimpse into his life, a rather good one. She thought incessantly that first day after she’d seen his child about what changes he would have to make in his life, the atoning he would have to accomplish before his life would be made any easier. The surface of the mirror became murky and a bright, sunny day appeared.

_Hermione looked around herself and noticed she was standing by the Black Lake at Hogwarts. The castle was looking worn for wear and had visible damage to one of the turrets. Walls on the far side had crumbled, the stones a massive pile waiting to be reassembled. The rings of the Quidditch Pitch in the distance were burned and disintegrating. She furrowed her brow at the sight, taking in the new sight of her old home. Her eyes came to rest on the familiar blond head she so often sought._

_He was lying on his back, his arms crossed behind his head, his knees bent. Though the day was dreadfully hot, he wore all black and long sleeves. He looked to be enjoying the sunshine, his eyes closed and lips parted._

_Hermione saddled up next to him, hoping her intention would come true. “Malfoy?” she asked quietly, not wanting to startle him._

_He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. She sighed and just as she did, she heard footsteps behind her. Hermione looked up and when she did, she saw herself walking in their direction. She was thinner, her eyes infinitely more haunted than when she’d looked in the mirror that morning. It was clear she had been through something traumatic. Her vision-self looked in her direction briefly, not seeing her but knowing she was there. This must be the future and her future-self remembered seeing this in the scrying mirror._

_Hermione watched as her vision-self stood next to Malfoy. He opened one eye and looked in her direction as her shadow was cast over his face, blocking the sunlight he seemed so intent on soaking up. His face screwed into a scowl. “Can I help you, Granger?” His voice wasn’t quite biting, but it was clear he wanted to skip the pleasantries._

_“I just saw you sitting out here all alone, thought you might like the company,” she replied._

_Hermione raised an eyebrow. Her vision-self was awfully sure of herself. He gestured toward the ground, indicating he wanted her to sit alongside him. “I’m not much for conversation,” he said in a clipped tone._

_“I’m not looking for conversation,” she shrugged, lying on her back beside him and crossing her hands over her stomach as she enjoyed the sun._

_Hermione walked around her vision-self and Malfoy, looking at the pair in wonder. In what universe did they lie in the grass together, an amicable silence between them? Why were they at school, a damaged and tattered Hogwarts? “You shouldn’t let them get to you,” her vision-self said, breaking the silence after a minute, but not opening her eyes._

_“Who?” Malfoy asked, scrunching his face._

_“The other students. They don’t know you or what you’ve been through,” she replied._

_“Neither do you. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly, Granger.”_

_“I know more than you think,” was her simple reply._

_Of course she did, she’d seen it all in the mirror—his torture, his hesitance in joining, his motives… She was going through the motions, playing a part though she clearly knew how this conversation would go._

_Malfoy scoffed, opening his eyes and looking up at the clouds above. Hermione’s vision-self did the same. “You know, when I was a child, I would stare at the clouds. Sometimes for hours, trying to make shapes of them, creating stories for the characters before the wind blew them apart.”_

_Malfoy was silent for a beat, his eyes scanning the clouds. “I did the same thing. I’d sit on my broom at the Manor for hours, wishing I could fly right up into the clouds and be whisked away.”_

_“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through,” she replied. “But you’ve got a second chance now. To start fresh and make amends.”_

_“How shall I do that, when everyone is out for my blood? No matter that I was acquitted. I’ve got the Mark on my arm to prove that I am the root of everyone’s dismay.”_

_“Take it one day at a time. Start letting people see that you’re remorseful. Donate money and, more importantly, time to relief efforts. Write letters to people you’ve wronged and apologize. But, most importantly, let people in, Draco. You can’t keep going like you have been, reclusive and moping about.”_

_Hermione raised an eyebrow at her vision-self’s ferocity. Whatever they’d been through was significant. The War must have been fought and somehow, he’d been acquitted. He’d changed sides._

_They stared at the rolling clouds once more. “Thank you,” he finally said._

_Her vision-self hummed. “For?”_

_“Not being like the others.”_

_She shrugged. “I’m alone here, too.”_

_Hermione raised an eyebrow once more. She was at Hogwarts. After the War. Alone. Had Harry and Ron died? Her vision self pointed up to the sky and tilted her head in Malfoy’s direction. “That one there looks like a niffler. And that small puff could be a galleon it’s chasing. What shall we name him?_

_Malfoy let out a chuckle at her absurdity and Hermione smiled. Her vision-self was grinning at the sound, her eyebrow raised. “How about Neil? And he’s escaped Gringotts with a few coins,” he offered._

_“A niffler on the lam from the law?” vision-Hermione laughed. “I always hated that the Goblins kept them anyway.”_

_Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he had a smile playing across his lips as well, seemingly put to ease by the playful, lighthearted conversation. “How about that one?” he asked, pointing to a large blob of a cloud. “Looks like a dragon to me.”_

_Vision-Hermione turned her head this way and that, closing one eye and then the other. “Nah. I don’t see a dragon. I see a fat hippogriff named Hershey.”_

_Malfoy’s laugh this time was loud and hearty. “And I suppose he’s eaten one too many_ ferrets _?” he teased._

_“Precisely. You’d better watch out, Malfoy.”_

_Malfoy tilted his head toward hers, just as she had done, bringing their heads close together. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”_

_“Oh?” Vision-Hermione asked._

_“I snacked on ferret food for a month after that,” he laughed and she looked over at him, her eyes wide._

_“You didn’t!”_

_He nodded once more. “I did. Snuck down to Hagrid’s shed and retrieved an entire bag.”_

_Vision-Hermione touched her head to his. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”_

_Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he mocked, thoroughly enjoying their exchange._

_“I find ferrets to be adorable,” she whispered, pretending to look around to make sure their conversation wasn’t being overheard._

_The tips of Malfoy’s ears turned pink, as did his prominent cheeks. “Granger, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you came here to flirt with me.”_

_Vision-Hermione shrugged. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting right back.”_

_And she turned her face toward his and planted a soft kiss on the side of his cheek. Malfoy, for his part, looked thoroughly pleased with the way their interaction had transpired as he looked back up toward the skies._

“What in the bloody _hell_?” came the loud screech that startled her from her vision.

It was dark and she knew that there was no way Ron could have seen what she was doing that quickly. But he was sprawled across the entrance to the tent, having tripped over her magical tripwire. Hermione sighed. One day, she’d be able to actually speak to Draco. But for now, she would take what she could get.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All bold take directly from DH, by JKR.

Hermione was sitting on her bed within the tent, having just managed a narrow escape from the Death Eaters summoned by Xenophilius Lovegood. She could hear Ron and Harry listening to Potterwatch on the radio. The familiar voices of Fred, Lupin and Lee soothed her heart. But she wanted privacy for just a few stolen moments. She cleared her thoughts and placed the scrying mirror on her drawn knees.

The static of the radio, the voices of her friends, the calmness that surrounded them after having just escaped capture: it all created an unusually serene setting. She had no problem clearing her mind, weary as she was.  _Show me what he wants._

_Hermione was thrust into a strange setting she didn’t recognize. It was warm, the sunshine bright and inviting. As she looked around her, there were bushes and vines twisting down long rows of wooden fencing. She walked up to the nearest and saw fat, ripe grapes. A vineyard. And it stretched out scenically before her, as far as her eye could see. If she had to guess, she would venture to say they were somewhere in Italy. Tuscany maybe._

_Just as she furrowed her brow in confusion, she heard voices to her left. Male voices. She walked around a particularly large tree at the end of a row and came upon a sight stranger than any she’d seen whilst scrying before: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley all stood, dressed in sharp cream-colored suits, all identical save for Draco’s lavender-colored cummerbund and tie. Theo was assisting him in pulling the suit coat on as the others magically stuck sprigs of lavender to their lapels._

_“I don’t know why I am so bloody nervous!” Draco was lamenting, looking like he was ready to vomit_

_“I don’t know, either. You’ve wanted this your whole life!” Theo told him, brushing nonexistent dirt from the shoulder of his coat and patting him on the shoulder in a brotherly manner._

_“Somehow, you managed to enchant her—how, I still don’t know, mate,” Ron said, grinning while he gave a single shrug._

_“We always thought she was much too brilliant to actually accept your proposal,” Blaise mentioned, grinning as well as he placed a crown of lavender atop Draco’s towhead._

_“Very funny,” Draco said, rolling his eyes as he buttoned his coat and then smoothed it unnecessarily, glancing in the direction in which a soft tune had started sounding._

_“It’s time, mate. Are you ready?” Harry asked, clapping him on the back._

_Draco took a deep breath. “Yeah. I love her…I couldn’t have it any other way.”_

_“Good man,” Ron said, flanking his other side, Theo and Blaise leading them._

_Hermione watched as the groomsmen and the bridegroom made their way toward the music. When they got to a wide row between two vineyards, she saw a grouping of women, all clad in elegant lavender gowns chattering animatedly. They were hidden from the view of the wedding guests behind a tall, vine-laden fence. Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Astoria Greengrass and Lavender Brown. Each girl held a bouquet of cream-colored roses, sprigs of lavender sticking up between._

_The men sauntered up to them and Harry threw his arm around Ginny’s shoulder. “Where’s the blushing bride?”_

_Ginny eyed Draco, a wide grin on her face. “Mum’s putting the finishing touches on her hair now._

_“Ah…a labor of love. Must have taken hours,” Theo commented, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Draco._

_“That’s my witch,” Draco said fiercely._

_Theo laughed heartily as the music shifted outside and Astoria squealed. “It’s time!”_

_Draco moved to stand at the front of where they were lining up. Theo and Luna stood behind him, her arm linked with his. Ginny and Harry were next, followed by Astoria and Blaise, and Ron and Lavender at the tail end. Hermione looked at them all and walked around to look at Draco. He was breathing with purpose, his eyes closed. Something in the music cued him to move and he opened his eyes and began to walk at a slow, even pace._

_They walked down a long row and Hermione saw Minerva McGonagall standing with a book in her hands, smiling at the bridal party coming. On the one side, she saw Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa was dabbing at her eyes, wearing regal robes of cream that shimmered with lavender when she moved. Lucius was wearing robes of cream as well, a sprig of lavender attached to his chest. His hair was pulled back, a lavender bow holding it in place in a way that reminded Hermione of a French king._

_Draco came to stand at the front, pausing to kiss his mother’s cheek and shake his father’s hand. The wedding party split and Hermione looked at the bride’s side. Molly Weasley stood alone in the first chair, blowing her nose into a handkerchief. She walked down the aisle, taking in the faces surrounding her—some she recognized, some not._

_Draco and Professor McGonagall stood under a pergola, wisteria twisting around it and falling from it creating an inviting soft purple canopy. When she reached the front, she heard everyone behind her stand and she turned to watch the bride walk in._

_And there, at the end of the row, came her vision-self from around the corner, her hand in the crook of Arthur Weasley’s elbow. She felt a slight pang in her chest that it wasn’t her own father accompanying her, but fought it as she stared at herself._

_She was older than now, perhaps twenty-five. She was adorned in a cream-colored gown with a lavender belt, intricate beading across the bodice. Her bouquet was larger than the others,  with assorted white and purple flowers. On her head, was a crown of lavender identical to Draco’s, intricately woven over and through tamed and pinned curls. A smile was plastered across her face, clearly nervous as she stumbled ever so slightly halfway down the aisle._

_Hermione brought her eyes from her vision-self to Draco’s face, wanting to capture his reaction. He wore the widest grin she had ever seen cross his face, a twinkling tear unshed in his eye. His cheeks flushed the most attractive shade of pink as Arthur placed vision-Hermione’s hand in the blond’s. He whispered something to her that Hermione didn’t quite hear and then they clasped their hands around each other’s wrists. There was a scar of some kind on her arm, though from this angle she couldn’t see it clearly._

_Hermione was vaguely aware of McGonagall speaking in Latin, a royal purple ribbon snaking its way around where their hands were gathered. The scene was surreal and she looked around at the faces of all in attendance. Everyone looked happy, some crying subtly, Molly Weasley openly weeping. She studied Lucius and noticed, that while he didn’t seem thrilled, he held an air of acceptance._

_What on earth had transpired to bring this strange menagerie of individuals together?_

_Hermione turned her attention back to where she and Draco were both smiling widely and the ribbon dissolved, seemingly straight into their skin. She watched as her vision-self smiled up at him. Draco excitedly stepped forward, putting his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forcefully, excitedly. The crowd of people went wild and George Weasley whistled loudly. Hermione noted that his twin was not in attendance. Perhaps he was tied down at the joke shop? The kiss was passionate and lasted longer than Hermione had ever seen at another wedding. When Draco pulled back and smiled down at her, she leaned back up and took his lips once more, drawing a fresh round of raucous cheers from their friends._

_So this was what Draco Malfoy wanted? The thought made her heart swell. A beautiful wedding, a life with her. She was the mother in the photo in the nursery. This was what Theo had referenced before._

Hermione pulled out of the vision, a smile plastered across her face. She touched the mirror gingerly and sighed, hope welling within her.

 **“HARRY, NO!”** Ron’s voice roared.

Hermione stuffed the mirror in her bag as she jumped from the bed and passed the curtains. **“-demort’s after the Elder Wand!”**

 **“The name’s Taboo!”** Ron was on his feet faster than Hermione would have ever thought possible and a loud crack sounded outside of their tent. Her heart began pounding as they froze, listening to the noise of people approaching. The Sneakoscope on the table was going crazy as Ron used his Deluminator to extinguish all light within the tent.

A gruff voice beckoned them out of their tent and a panicked bile began to rise in her throat. They would be recognized—Harry alone would give them away. She raised her wand at his face and silently said a stinging jinx. Hands grabbed her and Ron as Harry fell to the ground and she kicked, bit and fought as hard as she could. She could hear Ron screaming for them to leave her be and then the sickening crack of bones crushing beneath knuckles.

The men were demanding names from them. Hermione was terrified as she blurted out the first name that came to her—Penelope Clearwater. Everything was moving in both slow motion and rapid succession and the constant beating of her heart was drowning out the noise of the Snatchers questioning Harry.

**_‘”ermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with ‘arry Potter.’_ You know what little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you. _”_**

Hermione’s heart stopped beating altogether, her ears ringing loudly as she nearly sobbed from sheer terror and panic. They were caught. She managed to squeak out, **“It isn’t! It isn’t me!”**

 **“… _known to be traveling with Harry Potter,”_** the werewolf, Greyback echoed.

The werewolf and the Snatchers conversed some more, Hermione unable to clearly hear them as her mind raced to try to come up with any plan in the world to get them out of this predicament.

**“…they say he’s using the Malfoys’ place as a base. We’ll take the boy there…”**

After what felt like hours of listening to the men bicker back and forth, trying and failing repeatedly to come up with a solution, they were grabbed gruffly and Disapparated. They were still bound together, shuffled forward through a tall iron gate. Hermione saw the albino peacocks and she knew instantly that they were at Malfoy Manor—she’d watched Draco feed the bird on her first venture into Divination.

Fear threatened to swallow her as they were pushed inside. The voices surrounding her were muffled. She felt as though she were wading underwater. Hermione was barely registering anything as they were ushered into a grand home. She was trembling awfully as everything within her fought for flight. She reached and took both Harry and Ron’s hands from within their bindings, trying to reassure not only them but herself as well.

 **“My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know,”** Narcissa Malfoy was saying, walking brusquely from the room.

Hermione wanted to collapse right then, the anguish of having to be face to face with the object of her current obsession, the shame she would feel facing him—it threatened to consume her. If her heart hadn’t frozen in her chest, it surely would have beat so rapidly it would have torn from her ribcage.

And then she saw him, the blond hair she’d focused on for so long, the gaunt and horrified look on his face, the defeated and terrified slump of his shoulders. Upon seeing her, his eyes flashed, despite him effectively concealing all other surprise.

There stood her guardian angel, broken and devastated. There, in the doorway, stood Draco Malfoy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All bold taken directly from DH, by JKR.

Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy eyed her, tied to the other captives. She was trying to plead with him, through sheer willpower, to save them. “You called for me, Mother?” he asked, stepping one more step into the room.

“Draco, come closer, darling. Tell me, is this Harry Potter?” Narcissa asked and the werewolf turned them so that Harry was directly under the chandelier, providing the best light with which to show Harry’s facial features clearly.

They were in a drawing room and directly ahead of Hermione was a large ornate mirror over the fireplace. Hermione could clearly see herself and Harry’s profile, the back of the blond’s lithe frame as he slowly ambled toward them. She willed her mind to slow down, to clear her thoughts. She stared into the mirror, trying to see past the scene playing out around her. _Show him._

_Hermione stepped into the very scene she was currently in and ambled to where Malfoy was crouched in front of Harry. She went up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He immediately shuddered and furrowed his brow. Hermione could tell that he felt a strange presence around him._

_“Draco,” she whispered, and his eyes darted to where she stared into the mirror, a dazed look on her face._

_Finally. Finally, she was able to reach him in real time. She was encouraged by this and she drew in a sharp breath. “Draco. We’re in trouble. Please. You have to help us get out of here.”_

_He was facing Harry, but his eyes were traveling over her pensive and strangely calm face. She ran her hand over his shoulder and grabbed his upper arm. Whilst maintaining contact with him, she thought very clearly of the night she’d watched him feed the peacocks._

Malfoy was crouched before them, his parents and the Snatchers shouting for him to identify the trio. But Malfoy’s focus was on Hermione’s face. “The peacocks? That was you with me?” he whispered so quietly, he may not have even spoken if she hadn’t felt the ghost of his warm breath on her cheek.

Hermione gave a subtle nod. He looked at her with unmasked curiosity and fear. His father was shouting at him yet again and she could see the conflict swirling in his eyes in her peripheral. **“But then, that’s the Weasley boy! It’s them, Potter’s friends—Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name--?”**

Malfoy gave her one last spooked look and turned his back to them. “Yeah. It could be,” his voice sounded anything but sure.

Hermione’s heart sank, and she felt the devastating blow crush what little hope she had. Just as she didn’t believe that their situation could get any worse, she heard the last voice she’d ever wanted to hear again. The high pitched, psychotic drawl of Bellatrix Lestrange. **“What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?”**

She stalked around to rest on Harry’s side, but her eyes were trained only on Hermione. **“But surely, this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?”**

Hermione knew that they were done for. Everything they’d fought so hard for was crumbling around them. Never mind that they hadn’t found the rest of the Horcruxes. They were going to be killed by Voldemort at that very moment. Lucius and Bellatrix appeared to be arguing about who exactly would summon him and Hermione took the moment to look at Malfoy full on. She hoped to convey to him exactly what she was feeling.

For a moment his eyes locked with hers and he gave her a pained expression, as though the thought that she was captured and bound on the floor of his drawing room was the worst thing he could possibly imagine. He glanced in the direction of his father and aunt, who were tearing back the sleeves of their shirts, exposing Dark Marks, both eager to call on their master. He looked as though he were going to vomit at any moment.

Hermione watched in horror as the deranged witch stunned the Snatchers and bound the werewolf. She’d found the sword of Gryffindor, which was supposed to be nestled safely in her vault in Gringott’s. They were dead. Even Malfoy couldn’t save them if he had a sudden change of heart. Panic gripped her entire body like a vice and her blood ran cold.

**“Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me,”** she instructed, and Draco reluctantly stepped forth.

He levitated the two unconscious men out of the room, giving Hermione one final glance as he did. **“The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”** Bellatrix instructed and Narcissa protested for a moment until the threat of Voldemort’s wrath was upon her.

**“Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback,”** Narcissa instructed, seemingly put out by her sister’s overstepping her bounds.

**“Wait! All except…except for the Mudblood,”** Bellatrix instructed, and the werewolf got a twistedly perverted gleam in his eye.

Ron began fighting in their binds, screaming to take her place. Fear paralyzed every inch of her physical body and her mentality. She was cut free from the ropes and Bellatrix scooped up a handful of her hair and pulled her into the middle of the drawing room. The others were dragged away from her, Ron receiving a blow to the face for his shouting.

Hermione couldn’t recall a time in her life when she’d been more petrified. Bellatrix wound and knotted her fist into Hermione’s hair and climbed on top of her. Bellatrix pointed her wand directly at her and suddenly, Hermione was alight with fire. She let out a guttural scream, her throat burning with the force of her screech. She could hear Ron bellowing her name from somewhere deep within the home.

Just as the scorching acid beneath the surface of her skin would ebb, a fresh new wave of agonizing flame would lick at her nerves. She was vaguely aware of tears streaming from her eyes, blinding her. A flash of white on her left caught her attention as she writhed and convulsed on the floor and Malfoy was there.

_  
“Stop screaming! It only makes it worse!”_ Hermione clearly heard his deep voice.

She snapped her mouth shut and clenched her jaw so tightly, she feared she may break a tooth in the process. Malfoy was standing in the corner, his skin paling to a haunted grey pallor. She saw his lips moving unintelligibly and she felt a coolness beneath the surface of her skin. It replaced the scorching heat and she nearly cried out in relief. _“Keep thrashing, so she doesn’t suspect anything,”_ his voice instructed.

Hermione did as she was told and somewhere, in the taunting back corner of her mind that was still able to think random thoughts, it occurred to her that he was a skilled Legilimens. He was able to project thoughts into her mind and she would have been impressed, had she not been writhing on his floor.

Bellatrix was yelling at her to tell the truth, to ‘fess up to entering her vault. Hermione was sobbing uncontrollably, pleading with her to stop, repeating that she knew nothing. Hermione felt Malfoy enter her mind, she saw herself berating Ron upon his return, listened as Harry and Ron told of how the sword had appeared at the bottom of the lake. _“It’s real?”_ his voice asked, and she managed to give one nod that looked more like a convulsion.

Bellatrix was on top of her, the Cruciatus no longer enough. She continued her interrogation and Malfoy entered her mind. She saw herself scrying, a brief flicker of each vision coming forward. _“We will win the War, I’ve seen it! But we need to get out of here!”_ she frantically shouted in her mind.

Malfoy bit his lip and she closed her eyes as Bellatrix began carving into the supple flesh of her forearm with a short silver blade. Hermione had no idea what Dark magic was imbued within the dagger, but each swipe felt like a million razor blades, running through her flesh like a knife through butter. She closed her eyes when she felt her arm go numb. When she reopened them, Bellatrix was climbing off her and huffing. “Her blood is so thick with sullied mud that she doesn’t even bleed right!” she spat.

Hermione looked over at her arm. In bright, expertly cauterized slices was carved the word MUDBLOOD. Malfoy had stymied the bleeding, effectively keeping her alive though the cuts were definitely deep enough to have nicked veins or arteries.

**“You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!** **You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!”_** the ferocity in Bellatrix’s voice fueled a renewed ferocity in her attack on Hermione.

She was hitting Hermione once more with the Cruciatus. She felt her brain go foggy and she fell into a deep, unconscious sleep. While she was in the sleeping state, she was certain she began dreaming because Malfoy’s voice was ringing in her head. _“I don’t know what is in that vault at Gringotts, but you need to get there and quick. I have levitated a hair from her dress to your body. It is stuck by your right pocket. Make a polyjuice potion and get whatever is in that vault. It must be precious to the Dark Lord or she would not be acting this way. And Granger? I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her. The elf is here. He will rescue you.”_

Suddenly, she awoke to sharp daggers of pain all over her body, the wreckage of a fallen chandelier shattered all around her, shards of glass slicing her skin in the most macabre fashion. She wondered why Malfoy didn’t protect her once more when she saw him kneeling to one side of the room, shards of glass sticking out of his skin in the same manner. He was screaming, trails of blood seeping through his blond locks, down his face, through his clothing to puddle around him. The sight of him and the pain of her own wounds was enough to make her fall out into a true, non-magic induced unconsciousness just as she felt Ron’s arms close around her.

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione awoke once more in an unfamiliar cottage. Ron was sitting with her, wiping tears from his own face as she came to. “Ron? What’s happened? How did we escape?” she croaked weakly.

She was bandaged up but seemed to be in one piece. Ron was holding her hand and his tears now seemed to flow with relief. “Dobby. He was able to Apparate into and out of the Malfoys. He saved us, Hermione,” Ron’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Where is he, Ron? I’d like to thank him,” she said, attempting to sit up.

Ron looked at her apprehensively. “’Mione…he didn’t make it. Lestrange threw some kind of dagger at him and…” his voice trailed off and Hermione put a hand over her mouth in sad horror.

The brief moment when she’d come to in the wreckage of the chandelier came to her, the sight of Malfoy on his hands and knees, clutching at his face as glass stuck out at all angles. “And Malfoy?” she demanded.

“What about him?” Ron asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“I saw him—he was injured!” she said urgently, trying to toss her blankets off.

Ron put a hand over her to steady her. “Hermione, you’re hurt! Sit back!” he admonished, replacing her covers.

“I need my beaded bag! I need to see that he’s okay!” she shrieked, near hysterical.

Ron took her hand in his once more, bewilderment marring his freckled features. “Hermione, have you gone mental? It’s _Malfoy_!”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, you don’t understand. He saved my life!”

“Really? Because all I heard was your screams as he stood by and watched his aunt torture you!” Ron replied shortly, clearly annoyed that she was so worried about their foe’s wellbeing.

Hermione bit her lip. “Where is my bag?” she asked. 

Ron gave her a look and rose, retrieving her beaded bag from her pile of clothing. She looked down and noticed she was wearing a plain white shirt and pajama bottoms. Hermione put her hand into the bag and felt a sharp stinging to her fingertip as a shard of glass sliced her finger. She withdrew it and put it into her mouth to milk the blood forth, attempting to stop the bleeding as she opened the bag wider and peered in. Her scrying mirror, her access to the past, present and future, was in three separate pieces. “Oh, no!” she let out a sorrowful wail.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Ron asked, eyeing her as she retrieved the three black shards of obsidian and the pewter handle. “What is that?”

“It was a scrying mirror,” she said sadly.

“For divination? I thought you didn’t believe in divination.”

“I don’t…I _didn’t_ …until it showed me _him_ ,” she replied.

Ron’s brow was furrowed and his lip curled into a disgusted sneer. “Who? Malfoy? Why would it show you that smarmy git?”

Hermione was silent for a beat, contemplating what she was about to do. But it was now or never. They deserved to know. He’d saved her life and lessened her torture. “I bought this on a whim last summer…When you left…” Ron grimaced, “I pulled it out and asked it to show me where you were… kind of. Specifically, I said, _‘I want to see him—I need to know he’s safe.’_ ”

“And it showed you Malfoy?” Ron asked skeptically.

She nodded somewhat hesitantly. “I saw him each time I pulled out the mirror…at the Manor, with Theodore Nott, at Hogwarts after the War, holding a baby…”

She purposely left off her last vision of him, happily wedding her. Hermione wanted one thing to be left private and between them only. Ron raised an eyebrow and his mouth screwed into a frown. “I don’t understand. Are those definite truths? Or possibilities?”

Hermione looked down at her clasped hands. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But…the first time I saw him, he was feeding the peacocks at Malfoy Manor. When he was being forced to identify us…I was able to reach him. He knew I had been present while he fed the birds, Ron. That has to mean something.”

“I…I’m not…what does that have to do with what just happened? He wasn’t able to stop his aunt! If you could see what is below that bandage, ‘Mione…” he averted his eyes from her forearm.

“He put some kind of cooling charm on me, to lessen the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. He numbed my arm and cauterized the wounds so I wouldn’t feel it. If he hadn’t thought to cauterize it, I would have died! Bellatrix went pretty deep,” she replied, trying not to replay the scene in her mind.

  
“Hermione…I think you’re delirious! Do you hear what you’re saying?” Ron asked incredulously. “Mirrors, crystal balls, tea leaves…they are meant to show your subconscious…or something…that would mean that Malfoy has been on your mind.”

Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip guiltily and his mouth fell open. _“Malfoy? Draco sodding Malfoy?”_ he nearly shrieked, standing abruptly.

“Ron, please calm down…I don’t know what any of this even means yet…but you are missing the bigger picture. I have seen the future. _We will win the War!”_

Ron crossed his arms angrily. “And while you were fawning over Malfoy, did it occur to you to perhaps use the mirror to do something useful. Say…gee, I dunno, locate the remaining Horcruxes? Tell us exactly how we're meant to do this?”

She ground her teeth. “I tried. I tried to scry about more meaningful things. But each time I tried, I ended up staring into oblivion for an hour. Just like in Trelawney’s class. I can only channel my inner self when it comes to…matters of the heart…”

_“Matters of the heart?!”_

“Ron, please…calm down…” she started, just as Fleur walked in.

“Ah…’ermione! You are awake!” the Frenchwoman said, bustling into the room, carrying vials of potions and more bandages.

“This conversation is not over,” Ron threatened under his breath.

“It is until after we’ve won this Merlin forsaken War! We barely escaped death today! We lost someone—Dobby! And yet, you want to yell at me about things I cannot help?” she whispered back, her hair frizzing a little in her anger.

Ron seemed to wither at this and turned on his heel to leave the room as Fleur began to fret over Hermione. Without a proper mirror, she had no hope of reaching him again.

 


	7. Chapter 7

They were in a mad dash through the Room of Hidden Things, searching for the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. Harry and Ron were spread out and she heard a loud commotion. Atop the fifty-foot mountain of furniture, books, and other odds and ends she was currently standing beside, items began to rain down around her. She let out a piercing scream as a book hit her at rapid speed, clipping her shoulder painfully and threw up a shield to protect herself from the other clambering items.

“ _Finite!_ ” she heard the sharp, distinct voice of Draco Malfoy, and then, “No—you cannot kill him. The Dark Lord wants him all to himself!”

“Your family has fallen from grace, Malfoy! We no longer need to answer to you!” came the voice of Vincent Crabbe.

Ron called for Harry just as he lunged for something—the diadem! Crabbe sent a swift Killing Curse in Harry’s direction, but Harry dodged it so that the curse hit the bust sporting the tiara 

“STOP!” Malfoy roared. “DO NOT KILL HIM!”

Hermione weaved and bobbed through centuries of piled junk and came to stand right behind Harry. Malfoy’s face registered whom the scream belonged to and he paled even further. “The Mudblood! _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Crabbe screeched.

“NO!” Malfoy roared and he tackled Hermione to the ground, the green jet from the curse clipping the fabric of his jacket.

He had dropped his wand in the process and Harry retrieved it, momentarily stunned at the turn of events. Both Crabbe and Goyle turned their wands on the three of them. Malfoy, wandless and the most vulnerable of them all, stood directly in front of Hermione. He appeared to be daring his one-time friends to kill him.

“Really Malfoy? _The Mudblood?_ ” Crabbe let out a barking, humorless laugh.

_“Expelliarmus!”_ Harry swiftly disarmed Goyle while he was distracted and his wand flew out of sight.

Goyle leaped trying to retrieve the wand and all hell broke loose from there. Hermione shot a Stunning Spell at Goyle as she pushed past Malfoy. Crabbe was still attempting to kill anyone of them he could hit but failing as they each dipped and dived out of the line of fire. His dueling capabilities were subpar, and Harry took advantage of that to scan the sea of junk once more. Crabbe ducked out of sight. “Hermione, search in here. I need to go and help Ron!”  
  


There was a great billowing roar and Hermione shrieked at the moment she realized it was the sound of rushing flames. Malfoy, who had been tipping furniture over in the search for anything worthwhile in the pile Harry had indicated, stood and both Crabbe and Ron came running past them.

“RUN!” Ron bellowed, grabbing Hermione’s hand.

Flames started to cascade through the towers of junk, swallowing and devouring everything in their path. Hermione was sprinting, Harry and Malfoy hot on her heels. “How are we going to get out of here?” she panicked.

Harry retrieved two brooms and hopped on, Malfoy climbing on right behind him. Ron and Hermione saddled up in the other and they zoomed through the air. Hermione couldn’t even feel her usual underlying queasiness at being on a broom—Harry was searching the wreckage for Goyle. He found him and indicated to Ron and Hermione to retrieve him. Malfoy was screaming about finding the door, but Harry was paying him no mind as he dove to snatch up the diadem.

They flew at lightning speed through the doors just as the flames licked at the ends of the broom, and crashed to the floor, all five of them in a massive pile. Ron and Harry jumped off of everyone else, and Malfoy was pinning Hermione to the ground and coughing. “Oh, shit, Granger. I’m sorry,” he choked, rolling off her but still laying on the ground and hacking.

Goyle was still unconscious as the others stared in awe as the diadem began oozing a black liquid and emitting the faint sound of anguished screaming. “What is that thing?” Malfoy asked from his spot on the ground, fascinated and terrified 

“No time to chat, Malfoy. We saved your arse—you’re welcome,” Ron said, and he pulled Hermione up and the two took off running, Hermione shooting Malfoy an apologetic look.

 

o-o-o

 

Hermione barely had the energy to form a coherent thought once the battle in the Great Hall had finished. The world hadn’t ended, as she so oft thought it would. Harry had finally defeated Voldemort. But Fred Weasley lay dead, surrounded by his family. She couldn’t bear the grief any longer, she had to step away. Ron had his siblings and parents—he didn’t need her hovering.

She ambled through small crowds of people, smiling at Neville who had a group of admirers gathered around him. Harry had virtually disappeared and she knew he must be under the Invisibility Cloak. She scanned the crowd for the blond head she so desperately wanted to see.

He was sitting with his parents in one corner, all looking uncertain of whether or not they belonged among the survivors. She walked over to them and Malfoy turned to look at her. His parents looked perturbed at her sudden appearance, but he was looking at her with gratitude. 

“You saved my life,” he said shortly.

“You saved mine first,” she replied with a shrug. 

He reached up and took her hand, giving it a faint squeeze. “I’m glad Potter won this War.”

“We all are,” Lucius mumbled under his breath, smoothing a hand over his long, limp locks.

“Thank you for saving our son,” Narcissa offered, looking weary and battle worn.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, three Aurors approached. The other remaining Death Eaters who had been unfortunate enough to get caught were all sitting to one side of the Great Hall, bound and looking both angry and terrified at the turn of events. “We need you to come with us,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said, brandishing his wand in case any of the Malfoys decided to retaliate. 

“They turned to our side! You can’t take them!” Hermione cried incredulously, stepping between the three Aurors and the Malfoys.

“Miss Granger, have you forgotten that Voldemort _lived in their home_?” the Minister asked.

“Draco saved my life!”

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Granger. We’ve got to reap what we’ve sown. We’ll go quietly,” Malfoy said, pushing her gently aside.

Hermione looked up at him, fear and trepidation in her eyes as their hands were bound and they were led to the detaining area. Malfoy looked at her, shame evident all over his features.

The War was won, but the war within Hermione had only just begun…

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a sequel. The Princess and the Pariah!


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